chapter 3: The first fight

Xander

I knew this was coming.

It was just a matter of when.

Blackwood Academy was predictable like that. A new kid shows up, doesn’t fit into the neat little social hierarchy, and someone—usually an insecure rich boy with a fragile ego—decides to make an example of them.

Jason was that guy.

So when Mason and Trent flanked me after my last class, walking a little too close, a little too deliberately, I didn’t react. I kept my head down, hoodie up, glasses in place, playing the part they expected.

The dumb, unsuspecting nerd.

They waited until the halls thinned out before making their move.

“Hey, new kid,” Mason called, slinging an arm over my shoulder like we were old friends. “Let’s take a walk.”

I sighed, adjusting my bag. “Do I have a choice?”

Trent grinned. “Not really.”

I let them guide me toward the back of the school, behind the gym. It was the perfect spot—no cameras, no teachers, just the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant echo of a basketball bouncing inside the gym.

Jason was already there, leaning against the chain-link fence, arms crossed like he was bored.

“Xander,” he said smoothly. “You’re making quite the impression.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Didn’t think you’d be my biggest fan.”

His jaw tightened just a little before he smirked, pushing off the fence. “See, here’s the thing. I don’t like people who think they’re better than me.”

I sighed. “And you assume that’s me because…?”

Jason’s smirk turned sharp. “Because you are. You think you can just walk into my school, act all quiet and mysterious, and not play by the rules?”

I stuffed my hands into my hoodie pockets, tilting my head. “Didn’t know there was a rulebook.”

Trent chuckled. “Oh, there is. And lesson one?” He cracked his knuckles. “You don’t embarrass Jason Sinclair.”

I rolled my shoulders, exhaling through my nose.

I really didn’t want to start this early.

But they weren’t going to let me walk away.

Jason motioned to Mason and Trent. “Teach him some respect.”

Mason was the first to swing. A predictable right hook, telegraphed from a mile away.

I didn’t move until the last second.

Then I stepped aside, letting his fist cut through empty air.

Mason stumbled forward, caught off balance, and I took a slow step back, watching as he recovered.

Trent was next—quicker, a little sharper, but still too easy to read. He lunged, aiming for my ribs.

I sidestepped.

Again.

And again.

They came at me together after that, fists flying.

I didn’t block. I didn’t hit back.

I dodged.

Every punch. Every kick.

Effortless.

To them, it must’ve looked impossible—like I was predicting their moves before they even made them.

Because I was.

Fighting was like chess. Every stance, every shift in weight, told me what they were about to do.

And they were sloppy. Too emotional. Too eager to prove a point.

Mason grunted in frustration, swinging wild. I ducked, twisting away, hands still in my pockets.

Jason’s smirk faltered.

“You really don’t want to do this,” I said casually, stepping back.

Mason snarled. “Cocky little—”

He charged.

I moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

My hand shot out, catching his wrist mid-swing. I twisted, just enough to send a sharp jolt of pain up his arm. He yelped, dropping to his knees.

Trent hesitated, but it was too late.

I turned, shifting my weight, and swept his legs out from under him in one clean motion.

He hit the ground hard.

Silence.

Jason’s smirk was gone now.

Mason groaned, cradling his wrist. Trent wheezed, trying to sit up.

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders.

“This was pointless,” I muttered. “Let’s not do it again.”

Then I turned—

—and stopped.

Celeste was there.

Leaning against the fence, arms crossed, watching.

She wasn’t shocked.

She wasn’t running to get a teacher.

She was expecting this.

A slow smirk tugged at her lips. “Told you,” she said. “You’re not just some nerd.”

I stared at her, pulse steady despite the fight.

She knew.

I couldn’t fool her.

Jason, on the other hand, was still piecing things together.

“You…” He took a step back. “What the hell are you?”

I adjusted my hoodie, shaking my head. “Just a guy who didn’t want to fight.”

Jason didn’t look convinced.

Celeste pushed off the fence, walking closer. “Don’t worry, Jason,” she said lightly. “You wanted to put Xander in his place, right? Well, congratulations. You just found out where he really stands.”

Jason’s hands clenched into fists. He looked at me like he wanted to try again.

But he didn’t.

Because he knew.

I was out of his league.

Mason and Trent struggled to their feet, glaring. Jason exhaled sharply, regaining his composure.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered.

I didn’t respond.

I didn’t need to.

He turned, stalking away with his bruised pride, his lackeys limping behind him.

Silence stretched between me and Celeste.

Then—

“You gonna keep pretending?” she asked, tilting her head.